It Takes a Village
by SongofHopeandHonor
Summary: Fire Lord Zuko is utterly devoted to his wife - so devoted, in fact, that he would invite a drove of friends, family, and less-than-friendly acquaintances into his home to celebrate their only child's fifth birthday. Shenanigans, of course, ensue. Subtitled: My Greatest Venture in Stupidity Yet. Drabble Series. Zutara.
1. when feminine wiles fail

There is very little in this world and the next that Zuko would deny Katara. From the very start of the friendlier turn of their relationship, he's sat back and let her decide what's best for her, never offering judgment, just acceptance. They argue over many things, often explosively, but for all his love of control, Zuko has never tried to interfere with Katara's plans.

He decides, in this instant, that there is an exception to everything.

"No." Zuko's voice is clipped, abrupt, as he sits back in his chair and crosses his legs at the ankles, lacing his fingers and thus assuming the most authoritative posture he can muster. He has had years to emulate his family members' snobbery; now is as good a time as any to put it to use. "And that's_ final_, Katara."

She smiles at him, and that innocent curve of her brown lips makes the base of his spine tremble. He coughs and pulls all the muscles in his back into a straight line of authority.

"Is that so, Fire Lord Zuko?" She tips her head to one side, the loose spray of her hair gliding along her shoulder, and he knows he is in trouble because she never calls him anything except Zuko (and sometimes Hotpants, when she wants to yank his knickers into a knot). She never calls him by any title unless she is angry or scheming something.

He knows her well enough to have a basic gauge on her temper, and he thinks that she isn't angry (yet). So that only leaves scheming and Agni above knows that's far worse than an explosion of pique.

"Y-yes," he says, and he despises the tremor in his voice. "And my word is final." He's repeating himself, and he curses inwardly as he struggles to keep his face smooth as granite.

Katara shifts around onto her knees and rests her elbows on Zuko's thighs, violet skirts spreading in a halo around her, beautiful face tipping compellingly up to his. She swirls her blunt nails over his thigh, and his eyes twitch into slits.

"Not even for me? Zuko, on our wedding day, you swore to my gods that you'd do anything for me."

At the time, that had been nothing more than another show of his devotion and respect for her. To swear to the spirits his Waterbending wife worshipped had been a display of his fealty to her and her culture. He'd never meant it to be a cop out, but now he is abruptly grateful that he didn't swear to his own god, because if he had, he'd have to keep that vow.

And he will—once this is over, he will. He will move the sun across the sky for her, anything to make it up.

But this, this he cannot do. He has his pride, damn it to Koh's Lair, and he has his stubborn streak to remain loyal to.

"Anything but this," he says, voice cracking, "Katara, for Agni's flaming sake—"

Katara pushes farther up on her knees and grazes her breasts along his legs, and Zuko gulps. Her fingers move in tighter circles, farther up his thigh, and Zuko slams his spine back into the chair.

She kisses his knee through the fabric of his pants. "Don't you think she deserves this, Zuko?"

"No one deserves that," he says bitingly, flexing his fingers so they don't dive into Katara's web of hair, "least of all our daughter."

"You make it sound like a punishment, Zuko." She lays her cheek against his thigh, fingers creeping closer and closer to the Danger Zone.

"That's because it is."

Her nails bite into his hipbone, and he swallows a whimper. "This would make her childhood, Zuko."

"I'd think that you, of all people, would be opposed to elaborate celebrations, Katara."

"Well, sure, if they're for me—I'm still mad at you for the flaming cake thing." Her hand slips under his tunic, rubbing across his belly, mapping the ridges of his abdomen. "But this is different. It's really not all that elaborate, just a few friends and family members—"

"Crazy people, every last one of them—"

"—some of whom she might not even get the opportunity to see again for years, people she might forget if she doesn't meet them now. You know how little kids are, Zuko, they forget, and I want her to have memories of the people who helped to change our lives—"

"—make our lives hell, you mean, I swear to fucking Agni that that Pakku of yours tried to shove an icicle through my foot the last time we met—"

"—and Aang's so busy with Avatar Air Nomad-y things that he hardly ever gets a chance to visit; don't you think he'd love the chance to spend some time with his goddaughter—"

"—the last time Aang had a play date with her, she sucked a marble up her nose—"

The heel of Katara's abruptly freezing cold palm presses over his crotch, and Zuko swallows any more protests.

The steely look in her eyes genuinely frightens him, but not so much as the hand pressed over his, ah, royal pride, a hand that grows colder and colder by the second.

"N-now, sweetheart, you don't want to compromise our chances of producing any more heirs, do y—Katara, don't do that—"

"You are going to allow me to plan our daughter's birthday, and you are going to give me full control of every aspect of it, including the guest list. And that is final."

Zuko twitches and works on keeping his hips very, very still.

"Blackmail is beneath you, sweetheart."

"We both know that isn't true, Hotpants." Her cool breath gusts along his throat. "I don't want to freeze you to a tree with your pants down, but Iwill."

"Always comes back to being restrained against a tree, doesn't it." The joke falls weakly from his tongue, more a coping mechanism than anything else.

"Hmm, speaking of which." Zuko bites his tongue on a yelp when she twists her fingers in a way that is not beneficial at all to his more sensitive parts. "If you ever want to play 'I'll Save You from the Pirates' again, you'll learn to be a bit more cooperative."

Oh.

Oh, that is low.

"You win," he chokes, "you win, Katara."

Her face softens so abruptly that it would stun anyone not accustomed to her mercurial moods. "I knew you'd come around, darling." She drops a swift kiss on his mouth and pulls her hand away from him, hopping to her feet and bustling about his office, plucking up scraps of parchment and a bottle of fresh ink. "Now, about that guest list…"

Zuko sinks very low in his chair and presses his palms to his face, thanking any listening Spirits for the continued preservation of his heir-producing parts.

"I'm sure your uncle wouldn't be averse to leaving the Jasmine Dragon in an associate's hands for a few weeks…"

"_Weeks_?" It comes out as a squeak, muffled behind his shielding hands.

"Of course, silly! I want everyone to have plenty of time to settle in before the festivities."

"_Everyone_?"

"And Aang was on his way here regardless, to introduce us to the twenty Earth Kingdom nuns who supposedly found a cure for colds—" Her pen scratches in slashing lines up and down the parchment in time with her enthusiastic words.

"_Twenty_?"

"And Jet loves Aiko, though I really wish he'd stop talking about 'converting the enemy to our side while they're young'—"

"_JET_?"

"Zuko?" Katara peeks up from the parchment unfurled across her knees, pretty face twisted in thought. Zuko slowly pries his fingers apart, staring at her out of dull, slit eyes.

"What."

"Do you think building a child-sized tree house in the throne room would be a bit much?"

The Fire Lord groans and drops his face back into his hands.

* * *

A/N: I hate uploading things to ffnet because it's such a pain, but I had a sudden burst of motivation (don't expect it to last), so instead of posting this story solely to AO3, I cross-posted it here as well.

So I told myself I wouldn't post this story until I had five chapters written out; so far I've written four and a half, and that's the best display of self control I've pulled off in quite some time. This is an exercise in silliness; don't take anything written in this story too seriously. Consider this my way of relaxing after slaving over multi-chaptered plotty things that take actual brain power.


	2. patience is a virtue

Having struggled with his temper all his life (loss of temper is a loss of control, and loss of control is suicidal when you bend an element as finicky and destructive as fire), Zuko has developed many a method of remaining calm. First there was meditation. Then there was picturing a certain Waterbending peasant in nothing more than the skin she was born in (that only served to excite him in wholly different ways, but at least it stopped him from wanting to tear his own ship apart). Later on, he took to counting koala sheep (at Aang's recommendation), the mundane rhythm of it meant to slow his breaths and cool the flames in his chest.

At the moment, he's combining the latter two, but it's not working as well as he'd like.

_One stark naked Waterbender…two stark naked Waterbenders…_

"Gotta say, Fire Lord Hotpants—that's what Katara calls you, right? Cute—I gotta say, you look even prissier than you did the last time I saw you." This is punctuated by a wiry arm swung along Zuko's shoulders and a rough, outwardly friendly shake that clacks Zuko's molars together.

_Five stark naked Waterbenders…eleven stark naked Waterbenders…_

"I mean, hell, this look is a lot better than that bald-ponytail thing you were rocking before, and even better than that choppy style—seriously, my friend, you looked like you'd just lost a fight with a pair of shears and came back for seconds—"

_Twenty stark naked Waterbenders, twenty five stark naked Waterbenders, thirty one stark naked Waterbenders—_

"—But this flow-y princess-y thing? I swear you have even more hair than Katara does, and _that_ is saying something—"

"Jet." The word is spoken from between clenched teeth, and Zuko's good eye slits open to flick over to the man at his side.

The ex-freedom fighter in question pauses in his monologue. "Yeah?"

"Get off me before I break your nose. Again."

"That'd be, what, the fourth time?" Jet releases the Fire Lord's shoulders and rocks back on his heels, cupping his chin in one hand. "The first time was…"

"When you insisted that 'kissing the bride' was an Earth Kingdom tradition, bent my new wife over your arm, and shoved your," _slimy_, "tongue down her throat." Even the memory of it is enough to have a muscle in Zuko's jaw ticking.

"Yeah, yeah!" Jet snaps his fingers and smiles nostalgically, wheat grass hanging loosely from his bottom lip. "It was an old times' sake thing, you know? I guess I wanted to know if Katara was as good a kisser as the first time around—hell, you'd never have known she was fourteen when she kissed like a—"

Zuko's chest rattles on a growl.

"And, yeah, anyway. What about the second time? That was…"

"During the reception, when I was carrying Katara off to our chambers and you shouted," Zuko swallows tightly and winces, balking from the crude phrasing, "'stick her once for me'."

"That was some powerful fire whiskey," Jet hums, hazel eyes glossy with fondness.

"Not powerful enough to dull the pain of broken cartilage, I hope," Zuko mumbles, slicking a hand over his decisively _not_ princess-y hair.

"And the third time? My memory's a bit hazy…"

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. _Sure it is_. "When you blew up the pipes in the throne room's walls and converted a meeting with _a very important ambassador_ into a pool party."

"Primest blasting jelly I've ever gotten my hands on." Jet sighs dreamily, face slack with something like lust.

Zuko twitches and rolls his eyes up to the spring-blue sky. Just his luck, that the first of Katara's "guests" to arrive was the ex-freedom fighter and full-time maniac. And just his luck that he's been stuck with the duty of greeting the other man.

"He's my best friend, and he's coming to Aiko's birthday celebration!" Katara had snapped, shoving piles of parchment into Zuko's chest.

"He's fucking _nuts_—"

"_Language_."

Zuko's protests had trickled off into resentful grumblings when she'd leveled a stare at him that could have frozen Agni's asshole.

Speak of the Spirits, and the Spirits will appear—Katara comes tamping through the courtyard, hair flying around her face, casual blue robes swishing around her legs. Her face is alight with affection and her eyes are misty with happy tears, and Zuko decides that that look on her face just might be worth Jet's extended presence.

"Jet! Darling, I missed you!" And then she's hurtling into Jet's waiting arms, peppering kisses over his (smug) face.

"Missed you, too, sweetheart." Jet's hands land briefly on Katara's backside (a quick squeeze that Katara doesn't protest) and Zuko changes his mind. No amount of bliss on Katara's face is worth this fool idiot striding around _his_ palace and putting his grubby hands on _his_ wife's butt.

Zuko's hands flick to his sides, and fire dances at his fingertips.

"Put those away, Zuko," Katara barks without turning around, running her hands over Jet's face like she's trying to memorize the contours of his crooked cheekbones and sharp chin. "Jet, have you been eating well? You seem thinner…"

"Travelling by boat gives me sea sickness sometimes, you know. Couldn't really keep anything down."

Zuko mumbles, "Sissy."

"Oh, no! We'll have to fill you up right away!"

Jet grins roguishly, and Katara actually _giggles_, and Zuko thinks he might vomit on them both right now. "I could think of something _much_ more delicious than that spicy Fire Nation shit you force down around here."

"Oh, Jet!" She swats his arm, but her shoulders are shaking with another spurt of giggles. "Cut that out!"

Zuko gurgles like a dying man and starts to see red.

Just as he's about to yank his wife to one side and slam a fistful of fire down Jet's throat (how's _that _for _spicy shit_), another set of footsteps patters across the courtyard, and his daughter ducks under the ostrich horse Jet rode in on, coarse black hair bouncing, eyes alight with quiet adoration and solemn excitement.

"Uncle Jet?" the little girl pipes up, coming to a halt, feet churning over the stone uncertainly. Her skin, a shade caught between her father's and mother's, pinks prettily.

"Hey, pumpkin." Jet releases Katara to sit on his heels, extending friendly arms towards the child. "Long time no talk. How's my favorite Firebending spawn?"

Aiko giggles (an uncharacteristic thing, but Jet seems to have a thing for making Water Tribe, or even half Water Tribe, women simper like fools) and stumbles into Jet's waiting arms, tucking her head under his chin. "I m-missed you, Uncle Jet!"

"Still got that stutter, kid? How are you gonna strike fear into the hearts of your enemies if you stutter?" Jet lifts Aiko above his head and sends the little girl into a fit of joyful shrieks.

"I don't wanna _strike_ people. D-daddy says 'strike' means 'hit'."

"No, I mean, how're you gonna scare people if you stutter? Though," and Jet tips his head thoughtfully, "hitting your enemies is a good idea, too."

"Daddy says good rulers make their people happy, not scared."

"Your old man has misled you, baby." Jet stands in a fluid motion, Aiko clasped firmly in his arms, and starts to stride towards the palace's entryway. "Now, remember that thing I taught you the last time I was here?"

"Rough Rhinos are the worst, freedom fighters are the best, and Fire Princes are the ones with the scrawny chests," Aiko recites obediently, resting her head on Jet's shoulder.

"Good girl!"

Zuko snorts smoke and contemplates wresting his daughter from that bad influence's arms and kicking him into a lake.

Katara closes her fingers over his elbow. "Aren't they sweet? Jet's been doing great, you know; it's been four and a half weeks since he's had…an episode."

"Oh…goodie."

"And now that Uncle Jet's here to babysit…" Her fingers skate from his elbow to land on his abdomen. Her eyes dart around the empty courtyard. "It's been a while since I've experimented with exhibitionism."

"K-Katara, the ostrich horse is still here…"

She sighs and drags her husband behind a crate, rucking up her skirts as she goes. "There. Come on, Hotpants, I'm in a mood to play 'angry prince and captive Waterbender'."

"Oh—oh, _goodie_."

* * *

A/N: I'm probably going to up this story to M as of chapter three, considering things get a leetle bit crude at that point. And, because this is me, they'll probably be staying that way. Oh, and expect copious amounts of Jet from here on out, because I can.


	3. lessons in kinkery

"What was that, Waterbender?" a husky growl purred out against the crook of her damp neck.

"I said—I said please, oh, _oh, please_—I want to be _sullied_ by the e-enemy—"A hitch of breath, a desperate grind.

"Who's your Crown Prince, _you filthy little peasant_?"

"You are, _you are,_ Your Highness—_ohhhhhh_—"

"_They can hear you two in Ba Sing Se, you know_!"

Katara yelps and flops out of her husband's lap, hair standing out in disheveled clumps, mouth swollen, skirts crumpled and rucked to one side.

"Jet? Jet, what's going on? Katara sounded like she was _dying_—"

"Nah, Aang, Katara's fine. Thing is, she and Fire Lord Fussy Britches up there are into some seriously kinky roleplay shit—"

"Jet!" A flushed, panting Zuko flings himself out of his office chair and stomps over to the door; he kicks aside the chair that had been braced beneath the handle and sticks his head out into the hallway. "Shut up right now or I swear to all the Spirits I will _banish_ you!"

"_Joke's on you, fucker; I'm not a Fire Nation citizen and you can't _banish_ me!"_

"_Fine_!" Zuko stomps farther out into the hallway, yanking at the waistline of his pants and snorting smoke at any passing servant that dares to look at him askance. "I'll grant you citizenship, and _then _banish you!"

"Zuko!" Katara crashes her fists against the floor. "Stop it right now!"

"He started it—"

"So help me La, I will make you sleep on the floor for a week! _Two_ weeks!"

"…"

Katara folds her arms beneath her breasts and waits, heart rate slowing as the seconds pass.

Zuko's feet shuffle begrudgingly as he tracks his way back into his office, scowling petulantly. "I was going to _banish_ him…"

Katara purses her lips and arches a brow.

Growling, the Fire Lord slams the door shut behind him and braces his shoulders against it, combing fingers through his knotted hair.

There is silence on the other side, and then, "_Whipped_!"

Zuko's good eye twitches.

"I still don't understand," comes Aang's uncertain (and carrying) voice. "Why was Zuko calling Katara a 'filthy little peasant'? I thought they were past that…"

"Well, my friend, I think it's time I taught you about the fascinating world of dominant/submissive dynamics…"

Zuko pinches two of his fingers together. "Just one tiny banishment."

"_No_."

"He—he's teaching Aang about—"

"I don't know why I need to remind you, Zuko, but Aang is an adult." Katara wobbles to her feet and smooths her skirts back into place. "He can handle himself."

"He's a _monk_, Katara."

"If he wants to repopulate the Airbenders, he'll have to figure out _some_ of this stuff."

Zuko winces, because no matter how tall the Avatar grows, no matter how old he gets, to Zuko, he will always be that goofy little kid who thought that masturbation was something boys did to keep their "dingles from getting rusty and falling off".

"I'd like to keep those mental images a good five miles away from me, thanks." Zuko cuts a hand through the air and trudges over to kiss his wife's upturned mouth, lingering on the heated swell of her lower lip. "Now, _peasant_, where were we…" His fingers dance over her hips.

"Finishing," she says, drilling gentle fingers into his chest and pushing him away, face crumpled with soft admonishment.

Zuko snorts. "If _only_."

"Don't be crude, Zuko."

"I'm not—" Zuko swings his jaw back shut.

"And on our left…" The door swings open, and Jet's smirk drills into Zuko's skull, but it doesn't give him nearly as a big a headache as the innocently perplexed look on Aang's face. "…we have a pair of sexual deviants performing their standard mating ritual of slap-slap-kiss."

Aang's face, a face that retains none of the soft curves of his childhood, but all of the boisterous, fumbling innocence that characterized him as a twelve year old boy, crumples. "Isn't sexual deviancy that thing the monks told me the Fire Nation practiced? You know, the stuff with chains and misuse of pastries?"

Zuko's voice catches somewhere in the middle of his throat, strangling him. It feels like he's just swallowed a melon slice.

"You're twenty four, Aang. You can figure it out on your own."

Aang peers at his two closest friends like they're exotic insects.

"_Jet_!" Katara's foot connects harshly with the floor, and her hand floats over his waterskin. "We don't need you spreading weird rumors."

"Come on, Katara." Jet saunters into the room, dragging Aang along with him, arm anchored firmly around the younger man's shoulder. "Rumors of the Fire Lord and Lady's more creative adventures in the boudoir have travelled all the way to Omashu."

"Zuko?" Aang extricates himself from Jet's grip to wander over to his best friend's side. "You're turning a funny shade of red."

Zuko says nothing.

"They—what? Never mind. Aang, when did you get here? Why didn't you come to see us right away?"

"Because you and Fire Lord Kinkery were getting _biz-ay_—"

"_Jet_."

"I was gonna come up to see you guys—the nuns couldn't make it, by the way—but then Jet dropped down from a rafter, and then the weird noises started. Katara, I'm worried about Hotman. I've never seen a person turn this color before…"

"Oh, he's fine. Come on, Aang, sweetie, I'll show you to your suite of rooms. They're right next to ours."

Jet tips his head to one side and grimaces. "I don't think that's all that fair to the kid, Katara. These palace walls are pretty thin."

"_Jet_!"

"Katara—Katara, Hotman's turning purple—"

"Oh, he does that sometimes." Katara's fingers snag in a fold of Aang's sleeveless orange and yellow tunic and she starts to tug the monk out of the room. Aang's staff clacks along the floor as he digs his heels in.

"Katara, I'm worried about—"

"He's fine, I keep telling you. Honestly, Aang, I swear that sometimes you act like _you're_ the one who's married to him!"

The door falls shut with a soft clack, Aang's muffled protests and Katara's scoffing fading as the two make their way farther and farther down the hall.

"Huh." Jet conjures a stalk of wheatgrass from thin air and plops it into his mouth, chewing as contemplatively away as a moose-sow. "I wonder, if Aang _were_ the one you'd married, would you play out as many capture fantasies with him as you do with Katara?" The ex-freedom fighter chuckles. "Hell, considering the amount of times you tried to put the poor kid in chains, I wouldn't be surprised."

The floor shudders as Zuko falls over in a dead faint.

Jet nudges Zuko's side with the toe of his boot. He directs his question to the empty office, "How does a lightweight like _this_ manage to top someone like _Katara_?"

* * *

A/N: And hereee is where I quietly up the rating because I just can't stop myself (or Jet, it's really Jet's fault) from being crude.

I mean, come on, we all know that Zuko and Katara would be into some kinky shit. Remember how I said not to take this story seriously? Yeah, that reallyyyy applies to this chapter, as you can see.

Thanks so much for the encouragement, guys, you're all darlings and every one of your reviews makes me squeal.


	4. it runs in the family

Katara envelops the old general in eager, welcoming arms, tipping the side of her face to rest against his sturdy shoulder. Iroh might as well be her own uncle, she reflects, for all the comfort his presence drenches her in. She would love him, regardless, for his devotion to Zuko. But, what with his warm presence, persistent sense of humor, and boundless wisdom, she would have come to adore him one way or another.

The Fire Lady pulls back far enough to smile into Iroh's eyes, her mouth creased with an enthusiastic welcome-home.

And then he opens his mouth.

"Ah, my dearest Katara." Iroh pats Katara's stomach, beaming. "You and my nephew failed to inform me that I had another grandchild the way. I eagerly await the arrival of another beautiful, blue-eyed babe."

The color drains from Katara's face. "Ah…Uncle, I don't understand—"

"Why, you are positively glowing!" Iroh folds his hands together, sleeves billowing across his wrists, eyes slit with contentment. "Here's hoping your morning sickness is a little less violent than it was with Aiko, eh?"

Katara's fingers fall down to pinch at her waist. Sure, she's been a bit thicker around the middle since Aiko, but she didn't think—and Zuko said a little more flesh was a little more for him to touch and kiss and worship, but—

"Uncle, I'm not…"

"Now, my dear, no need to fret." Iroh loops his arm through hers and steers her down the hallway to Zuko's office. "I've created a new blend of tea in the past year, you know, and my lady customers inform me that it does miracles for morning sickness as well as moon cycle cramps—"

"Uncle Iroh—"

"Uncle!" Zuko's head pops out of his office, promptly followed by the rest of him, and then the Fire Lord is bounding forward with all the eagerness of a little boy. He squeezes both his Uncle and his wife into his arms, a grin cracking his typically solemn face. "You're here early!"

"I left early." One of Iroh's eyes opens and closes on a wink. "The sooner I get to see my grandchild, the better. Speaking of which, congratulations." Iroh claps his hand over Zuko's shoulder, winking again, decidedly more salacious this time. "The royal family prowess is strong in you, it would seem."

Zuko's mouth drops open, and he sputters out something that sounds like, "_Wut_?"

Meanwhile, Katara has rucked up a layer of her robes and is pinching harder and harder at her waistline.

"Ah, you don't know? Really, you two, the husband should be the first to know that his wife is in the family way—and I would think that after one child, Fire Lord Zuko, your acuteness would have sharpened at least somewhat."

Zuko's face shifts from slightly bewildered to utterly perplexed, then folds over into surprised joy. "Katara—you're—Agni." He hauls his distracted wife up into his arms, kissing her eagerly. "I guess—I guess this is a bad time, but, Agni, I'm so happy, Aiko will be so happy, fuck, now all of our _guests_ are going to know—but that doesn't matter, sweetheart." Zuko's mouth lands on his wife's cheeks, eyes, nose, mouth, as Iroh watches on with warm pride radiating from his stocky frame in waves.

"Here's hoping for a boy to give your little girl a run for her money." Iroh chuckles to himself.

"Boy, girl, what does it matter? My wife, my Waterbender, is pregnant with _my_ child. _Again_!" Zuko's chest puffs up in pride like that accomplishment is worth piles of gold. He spins Katara around in circles, laughing. "Sweetness, why didn't you tell me sooner—?"

Katara's foot connects with her husband's shin, and Zuko's breath expels on a pained huff; she takes advantage of his disorientation to slip out of his arms and patter down the hallway.

"Don't touch me, don't look at me! I'm _fat_!"

"K-Katara—" Zuko stretches a hand out to her retreating figure, mouth drooping with confused disappointment. "Sweetheart, what—"

"Hormones." Iroh inclines his head sagely.

"I'm _not pregnant_, _YOU DOLTS_!" _Slam_.

Zuko scratches the back of his head, frowning.

His uncle's weathered face mirrors that frown. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

A/N: Two am updates are the best updates. Fun fact, so far each of these chapters has been written at like three or four am. I nearly named this the Three Am Chronicles, but then I realized that would be grossly out of context even for me.

I just love Iroh a lot; that's my only excuse for this chapter.

Thanks for the feedback, dearies, your thoughts always make me smile. Tell me what you thought about this one, too, if yer so inclined.


	5. of naps and marital perils

"And then Uncle Jet said, 'I'll save you from those nasty Fire Nation soldiers, baby', and the beautiful and voluptuous Waterbender swooned in his arms—"

"Jet!" Zuko snatches his child from the ex-freedom fighter's arms and angles Aiko into the crook of his elbow, tucking his other hand against the soft rise of her belly. "Don't feed my child bullsh—uh, don't fill her head with wild falsehoods." There. That sounded officious and commanding enough.

"Yeah, you're right, Katara wasn't exactly what I would have called voluptuous—flat as a board, really—but Koh knows she's filled out well enough, am I right?"

If it weren't for the presence of his wide-eyed, keen-eared daughter, Zuko would curse the air blue. "I'd _appreciate_ it," his hands flex against Aiko, "if you'd_ refrain_ from commenting on my wife's_ figure_." Besides, with the way she's been pouting ever since Uncle Iroh's benevolent confusion regarding her pregnancy (or lack thereof), Zuko doubts that Katara would appreciate adjectives like _voluptuous_ being applied to her person.

Jet waves it aside and tips farther back in his chair, eyes drooping as they follow Aang's enthusiastic path around the dining room (damn it, didn't Zuko tell him to keep the air scooters to the outdoors?). "I didn't even get to the part where I kicked everybody's ass."

"Ass?" Aiko perks up, knotting her fingers in Zuko's robes. "D-daddy, why was Uncle J-Jet kicking donkeys—"

Zuko claps gentle fingers over Aiko's mouth and pins Jet with a mighty scowl—he knows how effective that scowl is, rendered all the more intimidating by the hideous scar that draws half of his face into a permanent glare. He's had years to work his scar and his scowl to his advantage, honing the fierceness of them both, but Jet looks as about as impressed as a man who's just been confronted by a baby rodent.

"We don't say those words, baby." Zuko addresses Aiko, even as he seethes at Jet.

"B-but, Mama says you use words like that _all_ the time!" Aiko tugs her father's hand to the side and squirms in his arms. "C-cause you're a foul mouthed brat—"

"Oh? Mama and I will be having a _talk_ very soon, then."

Aiko shrinks down in Zuko's arms and whispers conspiratorially to Jet. "Whenever M-Mama and Daddy h-have _talks_, they lock doors and l-leave me with the guards, and then there's a lot of sc-screaming and then things get really, really quiet."

"Do they stay quiet?" Jet leans forward again, the chair's front legs landing on the floor with a dull _thunk_.

"W-well, sometimes there're more noises a-after that, and then they come out of their room looking _really _happy—"

Zuko starts to calculate the chances of him getting a hernia between now and Aiko's birthday.

Sighing, the Fire Lord shifts Aiko around and slings her over his shoulder, anchoring a hand on the small of her back and turning on his heel. "Time for a nap, Princess."

"But, Daaaaaaad—"

"Nap now or you're eating sea prunes for dinner for a week."

Aiko visibly wilts.

"Okaaaaaay."

"Hey, Hotman." Aang dissipates the air scooter and lands on his feet with a graceful twist of his lanky body. "I was wondering…"

Zuko halts, Aiko still slung over his shoulder, and taps his foot, seething his impatience. "What is it, Aang?"

"Well, I offered Katara some of my egg custard earlier, and she said if I ever looked at her again, she'd throw up on my shoes."

Zuko grumbles and shifts Aiko around on his shoulder. Great. She really has taken Uncle's earlier slipup to heart.

"And Katara never gets that angry unless you did something, so." The Avatar shrugs and plucks Aiko out of Zuko's arms, bobbing her up and down until her eyes start to slide shut.

_Huh. _I_ can never get her to sleep that easily. Maybe children are more malleable around adults who are secretly children, too_…

Zuko shakes himself out of his reverie. "That's not even true—" He clamps his teeth back together. Then again…

Aang just lifts one eyebrow and pats Aiko's back as his soothing presence coaxes her into sleep.

_Maybe Airbenders secrete a special pheromone? _

Focus, focus!

"I'm just saying, Hotman, that you're her husband. Isn't it your job to make sure she's happy?"

And isn't it her job not to blow up at me over the littlest things?

Even as the air in the room heats from Zuko's temper, Aang retains his placid smile. Jet's snores rumble through the tense silence.

"Now's a bad time to get into a fight with Katara, you know?" Aang gestures to the curve of Aiko's back.

"Well." Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, nails biting away at the cartilage. "What am I supposed to do, Aang? I would swear that Katara and I needed an interventionist, if it weren't such a ridiculous notion—"

Aang perks up. "I _am_ the Avatar, and it _is_ my job to—"

Oh, no. No, no, no.

The snores cease. "Hey, that sounds like a great idea!"

_Agni strike me now_.

And thus, Aang and Jet appoint themselves marriage counselors (much to Iroh's delight), and Zuko wishes passionately that he were young enough to block out the world with naps.

* * *

A/N: Poor Zuko can't catch a break, it would seem. In that regard, at least, this work has something in common with canon. I nearly forgot to upload this chapter here; it's been up on AO3 for a good week now. Alas, poor scatter-brained writer.

Next up, Jet and Aang in the style of marriage counselors. And Mai arrives on the scene. I really fucking love Mai.

Don't ask me where this thing is ultimately going because I really don't know.


End file.
